Happily Dysfunctional
by Cryssy-miu
Summary: "Henry's family tree is an absolute train wreck, but to him it's perfect." A series of vignettes centering the Charming family, and the wayward Regina, Rumple, and Belle. Chapter 3: Regina and Snow attempt to teach Emma horseback riding. R&R (Set in the "Enchanted Forest" when everyone returns home)
1. Where Is Edison When You Need Him

_(Basically I was fed up with all the hate and fighting (yes I know it's a drama), so I decided to write my longing dream for this show of everyone finally being at peace and being a family. For the record I'm actually a huge CaptainSwan shipper, but since I don't know how to fit that in here, I went with my next choice for Emma: Neal (no SwanQueen, sorry guys)_

_This will be a series of vignettes with everyone living in wayward harmony, starting with Thanksgiving. Also, let it be known my favorite relationships are Snow and Regina, Rumple and Henry, Rumbelle, and Emma and Henry, so there will be a lot of that. Not a huge Snowing fan, sorry guys (but there will be some)._

**_Next chapter: _**_Rumplestiltskin loses a bet with Belle at Christmas time, and winds up in a big red suit, at the Charmings' doorstep.)_

* * *

It was mid afternoon outside the Summer Palace, and the golden sun was blazing in the sky. The air was warm, the breeze was gentle, and all-in-all, it was a perfect setting for the event that was never supposed to happen to take place.

The dysfunctional family of Henry was going to have Thanksgiving Dinner.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head as his cane sifted through the grass, watching his over zealous son and grandson race up the hill. It would be a lie if he said he was dreading what was to happen in only a couple of hours. It would also be a lie if he said he wasn't dreading it. To put it simply, he didn't know how he felt.

It had been two months since returning to the forest most of them grew up in, and such festivities like Thanksgiving was non-existing in the land, but not when there was a certain little boy that wasn't about to let go.

Oh, how Henry had pleaded and begged and even cried at one point to play on everyone's sympathy and make this day possible. It hadn't been a very difficult effort; for the time spent living in Storybrooke, no one wanted to give up Thanksgiving and Christmas. And now, finally functioning as the most wayward family in history, they could finally have a real Thanksgiving.

"Dad, check it out!" came Henry's bubbly voice as he gestured wildly to some sparkles leaping from the grass. "Fairies!"

Rumpelstiltskin had to laugh in partial endearment as not only Henry, but his childish, _adult_ son bolted into the grass, where the glitter floated. "Unlikely," he told the boys. "Creatures of that size are probably sprites, and jumping at them like an eager cat isn't the way to go about catching them. Besides, we're to be gathering centerpieces and decorating for tonight, aren't we?"

"Ah, we can spare a break, can't we?" Neal whined, clapping at the sprites and trying to cup them in his hands.

"I don't think it's called a _break_ when you haven't even done any work yet_," _Rumplestiltskin pointed out with an amused smile. "How about we save the sprite catching for later and pick flowers instead, before Ms. Swan has our heads?"

* * *

Over the months, the wildness had begun to disappear, evaporate slowly from Regina's black heart. It had lightened a few shades. It hadn't turned white, it never would, but the stains in it no longer continued to corrupt her life.

She was cold, distant, but no longer a threat. She was _welcomed_, in her son's heart, in his life, and in the family. Being accepted was still something she was getting used to.

Nothing had really happened that lead to the woman they struggled to cut out of their lives now actively involved in their dysfunctional family. There was no sudden revelation or tearful, overly sentimental apologies. There was simply _nothing, _and that was just it. The feuds stopped, the hatred simmered, and peace came. Everyone was tired of fighting. All that ever accomplished was further pain and unhappiness.

It was Henry, it had always been Henry. He was the metaphorical string that tied this family together. And the strings had become stronger over time without the stress of hatred to sever them.

Spending an extended period of time with the people she once detested with every fiber of her heart and soul was even harder to get accustomed to. To be more specific, _Snow White._

"Are you done yet?" Her voice dripped with impatience and old-age hostility as she glared at the back of her step daughter's curly head. Her tone had changed in these months. The almost innocent, human emotion had finally replaced the dead monotone she had for years. It always seemed to revert with or without her consent when she was with Snow.

"There has to be at least fifty recipes in this old book," the voice griped back. It wasn't hard to tell neither women were especially keen on this mother-daughter cooking session.

_"You guys are the only ones that can really cook without blowing anything up around here,"_ Emma had told them. The blonde's words had not been enough to sway the unhappy duo, so Henry swooped in with his pouty-Charming face and dewy eyes to melt their hearts, and easily succeeded. It was true that Snow and Regina were the only two people that couldn't make the kitchen combust, but neither could shake it from their heads that this had to be more of a conspiracy than that.

"Why don't you just pick the easiest recipe then," Regina snapped, "At least that way you don't have to get your pretty little princess hands dirty."

Snow's mouth set into a hard, unmoving line, but she refused to humor the other woman. They just had to bake together. They didn't have to make any extended conversation. "I like the idea of the three tiered pineapple-mango cake."

Nostalgia seeped through the former queen's veins as she remembered the days spent in a kitchen under the warm summer sun with Henry as he helped her with her baking. Pineapple-mango cake had always been his favorite, and it was one that she had never been able to perfect (most likely because her seven year old son insisted on helping every time).

Regina sighed. She thought she was going to enjoy watching Snow White crash and burn in a misguided attempt at baking a difficult dessert, but not when it was her son's favorite. "Well let's get on with it then."

* * *

"How does it look, Rum?"

Rumplestiltskin's golden eyes rolled up to gaze at the paper lanterns his Belle had strung around the boughs of the tree. Right now in the daylight they blended into the scenery, but it would be twilight by the time everything was set up, and the lanterns would be more visible.

"I think it looks as beautiful as you." He dipped her playfully, and the woman squealed with a giggle as her brown locks dragged along the dirt. "Although I don't think anything in this land could rival your beauty." The sun beams touched her irises right where they gleamed the most.

"Well aren't you a charmer," the brunette purred playfully as she slipped her mouth into his.

"Hey," Charming interrupted, a half-hearted scowl on his face. "That's my bit."

"Oh, don't worry, dearie, _nobody_ is quite as charming and charismatic as you," Rumplestiltskin retorted in his old-age-high-pitch-dripping-with-honey-sweet sarcasm.

Belle laughed again. "So how are our boys doing gathering flowers and plants for the centerpiece?"

Rumplestiltskin turned to gaze down at a patch of marigolds, where Baelfire and Henry had apparently lost interest in chasing sprites, and now lay rolling about in the garden and grappling like little boys.

"Oh they're very intricate in their work," the deal maker responded dryly, and his love chuckled again.

Charming stood back with the other grandfather, his lips pursed in amusement as he let the endearing scene continue for a few moments before speaking. "Hey Henry, how'd you like to help Emma catch a turkey?"

That got the boy's attention, and he popped out of the flowers and nearly knocked Rumplestiltskin to the ground as he bounded toward his maternal grandfather. "Wow, really? I get to catch a turkey?! How are we gonna do that? Are we gonna use, like, a net or something?"

Rumplestiltskin scoffed. "Really, _catch_ a turkey? Why I could save you all the trouble right now and conjure one up, cooked and stuffed."

Neither party looked too keen on the idea of getting magic involved, and Henry was still bouncing in excitement at the prospect of hunting like a child of the Enchanted Forest, so the deal maker went quiet.

"Thanksgiving is a familial holiday, and even the work put into it should be a bonding experience," Charming explained, squeezing his young grandson's shoulder. "We shouldn't try to take any short cuts." He gave his grandson a playful love pat and sent him off on the trail. "Emma should be at the beginning of the forest, and I'll catch up soon!"

The pre-teen waved at both sets of grandparents and exuberantly took off down the dirt path, whipping past the trees and letting the wind whisk up his tweed coat as he hummed a happy tune about Thanksgiving. Right before he glanced up from the path to search for his mother, he bumped into something solid.

"Whoa, holy crap!" The startled blonde swerved around in an attack position, half expecting to see a gobbling, rainbow colored avian, and releasing a sharp puff of air when it turned out to be her son. "Henry, don't scare me! I thought you were a turkey." She didn't even stop to realize how _ridiculous_ that sounded.

"What gave it away?" Henry laughed, "The feathers on my head?" He ducked as his mom playfully swung for him. "So what direction do you think the turkey will be in?"

"Do I look like some sort of turkey expert to you?"

Henry's eyes crinkled in merriment, just the way his father and grandfather's did. "Hey, we're in a magical forest. Do you think this turkey might spit fire or needles?"

Emma's eyes contracted into pinpricks of horror. "I'm gonna need a bigger gun."

* * *

"I'll always prefer our forest over Storybrooke, but I do miss the electrical wiring," Belle sighed as she finished decorating the last boughs of the tree. "Twinkling lights would stand out so much better. Or maybe Storybrooke just spoiled me."

Rumplestiltskin chuckled, his arms slipping around Belle's slender waist as he pulled her into him. "Twinkling lights? It's not Christmas." His face fell in dread. "Speaking of which, that's in a month, and I'll bet our dear grandson isn't going to let that go by without some sort of heinous love fest like this one."

"Christmas in the Enchanted Forest," Belle mused, "We're certainly making our land more festive than it ever was."

"Mm, yes, it's a shame there's no Santa Claus in this world."

The brunette grinned, tracing a finger over her love's cheekbone until he shivered from the contact. "Well I've heard back in the modern world, family members dress up as Santa Claus for their little ones, and give them presents. You have magic...you'd make a perfect Santa Claus."

Rumplestiltskin didn't even bother to express how disturbing and undignified prancing into the Charming household with a big red suit and a sack of gifts sounded. "There's only one little one that I know of, Henry. Where are the others you speak of?"

As if on cue, a purple plum unceremoniously dropped from the tree, directly onto Rumplestiltskin's head. He winced, but as he and Belle looked up, a few more plums rained down, and they jumped back.

"Why you insubordinate boy!" Rumplestiltskin exclaimed with wide eyed amusement as he sighted his _adult son_ perched up in the boughs of the plum tree with a handful of plums. "You're supposed to be collecting plums for cider, not lobbing them like projectiles!"

Neal smirked teasingly at the couple, and in that moment, Rumplestiltskin saw his fourteen year old again. "Hey, I never had a chance growing up to tease you with my new mother, so I'm making up for it."

Belle gave a giggling yelp and reached up for coverage with her arms as several more plums rained down at her. Gaping, Rumplestiltskin rushed to his love's side and pulled her out of the range of fire.

"Baelfire, where is your sense of honor? You do not open fire at a lady!" As he said this, several purple missiles were flung from the tree, pelting off the man's head with a comical hollow noise. "Testing me, boy? You're not too big for me to tan you," he commented playfully.

"Shit!" the son cursed as he ducked several plums hurled back at him in a cloud of purple magic. "You've opened fire!" he shouted at his father. "Now it's war, old man!"

"I did not open fire! I merely got you back for trying to take your step mother's eye out with a _plum!_"

The couple cried out in laughter as the fruit began to pelt them relentlessly, and decorating and their duties for the day were all but forgotten as a full scale fruit war broke out.

* * *

Burlap sacks of sugar and flour slumped against the wooden counters, and flour covered the floor. Snow loved cooking, but over time had come to learn she needed a steady head when she did it. And here, frantically trying to get the recipe right, she was all but collected, and most of the ingredients wound up around her feet.

"See, this is why palace's have servants," Regina commented, a hint of amusement in her tone, finding it more than entertaining to see the younger woman so stressed and miserable. "The ingredients are in everything but the bowl."

Snow White heaved a harsh sigh and slumped against the wall. "Everything was so much easier with electrical equipment."

"And servants," Regina reminded. "That way you don't have to worry your prissy little head off about making everything perfect, and we can just take on separate tasks for this grueling gathering rather than just pretend we can get along." Although she did think she was doing exceptionally well with Snow White thus far. She wasn't in the oven yet.

Trained to deal with her step mother's insults and ice cold demeanor, the queen only answered, "We're not having servants do this, Regina. Henry wants this cake and it won't be as special if we just take the easy way out. Besides, I want to learn how to cook my grandson's favorite dessert."

"Oh I see, a labor of love. This isn't magic, Snow White. Cooking is not a magical endeavor, it's an intellectual one-something you quite obviously fail at..."

Of course she was one to talk, Regina knew. So accustomed to modern technology, working in a stone-age kitchen again was like rocket science.

"The pages are so old," Snow White remarked, fingering the frail, yellowed paper. "Half the recipe has faded. Do you have it anywhere else?"

"What do I look like, a walking notepad?"

Realizing her stepmother wasn't going to do anything more than insult her and give her sarcastic responses, Snow scanned the unhelpful recipe, not entirely sure how to make this dessert. It didn't help that half the the words were either faded or stained beyond recognition. "Eggs next, it looks like. Then the...pineapples?" Damn this infuriating recipe! "Is the cake supposed to have chunks of fruit in it?"

"No," Regina said, heating up the stove. "You mix the pineapple and mango together with sugar in a small pot of boiling water. After that you pour it into a pan and add the other ingredients, such as the eggs. That part I remember."

Adding the fruits into the boiling concoction on the stove, Snow White instinctively reached for her electrical whisk tucked behind the microwave, and only found her hand grabbing at the air. She flushed and griped in embarrassment as she remembered where she was. It had been two months and she still searched for her old appliances.

"I'll always love this forest, but I wish we at least had battery powered whisks here."

"Maybe we should revive Thomas Edison so we could have a jump-start on manufacturing electricity into our land."

Snow's lips twitched in partial amusement as she worked away at the pot of fruit, trying to stab it down into mush the best she could.

Regina stayed off to the side, supervising. She wanted to get engaged—it was her son's dessert after all, but not if it risked some familial cooking bonding with Snow White. She watched the younger woman fruitlessly chop at the stubborn ingredients for a moment and then finally held out a heavier, metal spoon to her.

"Try this. It'll chop better, and it'll be easier on the hand." Full-out baking mode, the former queen tipped in a few more trickles of water. "Add more water so it will liquify better." Without thinking, Regina wrapped a hand around the spoon, and her fingers brushed the tips of Snow White's, helping her to stir the mixture. "Stir consistently, at a steady pace. Never let the mixture stop."

Snow's hand moved with the spoon, the feeling becoming natural as she stirred insistently without Regina's help. The spectrums of colors swirled until they morphed together into a different texture. In this time, Regina stayed right behind Snow, looking over her shoulder.

In another world, they could have been this way before, baking in the kitchen like a mother and daughter, like a family. Snow spent time when she was young standing on a stool and watching the palace cook as she worked, baking her father's favorite pheasant dish, or a series of pies.

"You should add some more water, the heat evaporates it if there isn't enough."

Nodding, Snow reached for the bottle again, but instead grasped a different bottle that her careless daughter had foolishly left out on the counter the night before. Regina's eyes widened as she saw the liquid form at the rim of the bottle, but it was too late.

"Snow, that's not-!"

Both women shrieked as a cloud of fire exploded from the pot and licked the ceiling, catching on the wooden counters and engulfing them in flames. Regina rose a glowing hand, and with a single squeeze, choked the fire to nothing.

Despondently, Snow rose and salvaged a few mango and pineapples out of the charred mess, finding they were the only survivors of the failed cooking attempt. "That could have gone better." She shrugged and tossed the pot into the sink. A small bluebird appeared on the rim of the windowsill, and Snow managed a small smile at the creature.

"Everything is alright, Cassy, it was just a small cooking mishap." The bird chirped and took flight.

"Are you on some sort of medication I should be worried about, dear?" Regina's tone had adopted a light, suspiciously mother-like concern.

"No." Snow's eyes narrowed. "Medicine for what?"

"Well for your schizophrenia for one, since you actually, ludicrously believe you have the ability to _talk_ to woodland creatures."

"Just get the broom."

* * *

"We should sing a song to pass the time."

"A song about what?"

"Turkeys."

"You want to sing a song about turkeys?"

Emma and Charming trekked down the forest path while Henry took the more adventurous route, leaping over logs and climbing smaller trees.

"Well yeah," the kid grinned with his father's smile. "When Grams is doing something in the house she always sings about it. She sang about cleaning the kitchen the other day, and it just makes the task more fun she says."

Emma smiled back at her adorable son. "Well, what about turkeys should we sing? Are we going to sing about how delicious it's going to taste? How much fun it will be to gut them? Or maybe about how they spit fire and needles?"

At that, Charming stopped walking and stared at his daughter in amusement. "_What? _Fire breathing turkeys? Where in the world did you get that notion?"

Emma was immediately embarrassed, wanting to slap the affectionate amusement off her father's face. He was staring at her as he would if she was five and asked if lollipops could grow on trees. "Well hell, I don't know! We're in a land of fire breathing dragons-"

"Yes, but not fire breathing _turkeys!"_

Both her father and son roared with laughter at her expense, and only laughed harder when she demanded they shut up. The blonde narrowed her eyes at her giggling son and took a lunge for him.

"You got me into this, you brat! You're the one that suggested they breathe fire!" Her son let out a tiny, high pitched scream, but his mother grabbed him in a headlock anyway. He was granted mercy when the trio heard the snapping of a nearby twig.

They all fell quiet, snapping their heads up to see a multicolored creature waddling not even twenty feet from them.

"Whoa, that was fast," the blonde mused, releasing Henry and reaching for her gun. A hand stopped her, and the exasperated blonde stared up to see her father had taken her weapon. "What the hell? Am I expected to kill this thing with my bare hands?"

Without saying anything else, Charming pocketed Emma's gun and tossed her a quiver. She tossed it back with a glare.

"Who do you think I am, Robin Hood?"

"No," Charming intoned playfully, "But you are your mother's child, and it's about time you learn how to operate weapons from our world. No guns, _Sheriff_, it's time to learn how to shoot a bow."

Emma scowled, but said nothing else on the matter and begrudgingly accepted the quiver. The weapons-woman badass of Storybrooke fumbled clumsily with the bow, which only ended up slipping from her hands and winding up at her feet. Charming felt a sad endearment by his daughter's defeated expression, and without thinking, he gently took her arm and helped her place the arrow.

The gesture came instinctively as he watched his daughter struggle, and as he helped her hold the bow thoughts raced through his head. He thought of the missed years of his daughter's life, teaching her how to shoot an arrow, use a sword, and even sculpt the perfect snowball. At least he could give her this, and it was even these little moments that he cherished and knew it wasn't too late for them.

"Now when you aim, make sure you get dead on or as close to the heart or brain as you can. It's not mandatory, but it would lessen its suffering."

Emma felt her heart tingle as he helped her and knew she was thinking the same things he was. She aimed the bow, never keeping her eyes off the target, and let go. With a _whizz_, the arrow sliced through the air and speared the turkey with a squawk.

"Alright, you got it, Mom!" Henry cheered as he bolted over to the body and lifted the bird up by the neck. He felt bad for the dead bird, but more than anything he just wanted to be like his grandfather. "Gramps, can I carry it?"

Charming chuckled affectionately and watched as his little grandson attempted to throw a turkey nearly the size of him over his shoulder. "Just like a regular little hunter."

* * *

"Well, we sure did a good job of..._sprucing_ up the place, now, didn't we?"

It was sunset and the hill that the three of them were in charge of decorating lay unchanged other than the various, smashed plum remains in the wake of a fruit-firing battle. Lanterns were at least hung—maybe that would be their saving grace.

"Snow White is not going to be pleased," Belle giggled, wiping the remnants of plums off her dress.

"Oh, and who made her Queen of the world?" Rumplestiltskin quipped, "Wait..."

"Emma is totally going to kick our asses," Neal snickered, flicking a plum pit at his father. Rumplestiltskin playfully swiped it back at him.

Charming, Emma, and Henry expected to come to the hill and see the area flooded with flowers and candles. Instead, they found plums scattered around three played out adults.

"Wow, has anyone seen my fiance and future father in law?" the blonde snarked, "Cause I think someone replaced them with five-year-olds. So this is how you go about gathering plums for cider, huh?"

"Let's be honest, Ms. Swan, _pureed _plums are much better than cider any day."

"I caught a turkey!" Henry chirped. His mother glared playfully at him.

"_You_ did?"

"Well," the boy grinned sheepishly, "I brought it back anyway."

Neal laughed. "Great, now we just need to cook it."

"Good luck finding the kitchen through all the smoke."

The group turned, eyes widening as they saw a soot covered, worn out looking Regina and Snow White making their way up the hill, and carrying a large bowl rather than a silver platter they expected to see a cake on.

"Wow," Emma laughed, "What happened? You both look like hell."

Snow hesitated. "Cooking was-"

"A labor of love," Regina deadpanned, and Snow couldn't help but laugh.

The sun had fallen past the hills, and a blanket of twilight covered the once-blue sky by the time everything was set, and the feast was prepared. Belle's lanterns illuminated the plum tree, and lit the small hill the family sat on.

"Pineapple,-mango pudding anyone?" Snow asked as a bowl was passed around the picnic blanket, and the family helped themselves to a serving.

"What happened to the cake?" Emma teased. "Did you two liquify it?"

"No," Regina responded dryly. "Your mother burned down the kitchen, so we had to improvise."

The ever collected queen flushed like a guilty child, and chuckles rose from the group.

Henry took a spoonful of pudding, his face beaming in happy nostalgia."I remember when I was little, and you made that cake in the summer time. I used to sit in your lap on the front steps, and we'd eat it and watch cars go by."

The eleven year old paused his spoon in mid air, and gave his adopted mother a cheeky grin. He bounded forward into her lap, and the startled woman melted as she reveled in the joy of feeling her little boy in her arms, like so many summers ago.

"We should all go around the blanket and say what we're thankful for," the boy suggested. The family all glanced at each other and shrugged. It was a traditional custom, after all.

"I'm thankful for this past year, as crazy and ridiculous as it's been," Emma began. "I found everything I ever wanted." She gripped Henry's hand lovingly, and smiled at Neal. "And some things I didn't even realize I wanted."

"I'm thankful for finally finding my husband, my daughter, and my grandson," Snow said, pressing a brief kiss to Charming's lips.

"You know we'll always find each other," Charming responded, giving his wife's hand an affectionate squeeze.

"I'll be thankful when the two of you sickening love birds find a new saying," Regina snapped quietly. The couple glared at her, but everyone else only laughed.

"Well then I suppose I'll speak for my Bae, and Belle," Rumplestiltskin shrugged, "And I'll say we echo...the sickening lovebirds'... sentiment. To family."

"You did a great job decorating the tree, Belle," Emma complimented. "It looks so...magical. But why are we having a picnic dinner outside? I mean, isn't there more places to decorate, and more room in the palace, with our dining room table?"

"Wait for it, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said, a strange glint in his eye. "I suggested an outdoor picnic for a reason."

Seconds later, an ethereal streak of light shot across the dark sky, and it was quickly followed by another, and another. Soon, shimmering orbs began to rain down across the land in an endless, majestic pattern. It was like the stars were falling from the heavens.

Emma was awestruck. She lived in Boston, and in a busy, nearly star-less city, not once had she seen a meteor shower. "Holy crap... Did you do this?"

"No, not quite," Rumplestiltskin chuckled, "But I've always had a fascination with astronomy, and over the years of observing it, I learned what days astrological events occurred."

"Is this anything you had in mind for today, kid?" Emma asked her son, squeezing him affectionately around the shoulders.

"No," Henry whispered, his eyes shimmering in joy and wonderment. "It's all been so much better."

The group fell silent for the next few moments and observed the night time spectacle, sitting there on the blanket, united as the strangest family tree in history. Past bitterness, hatred and feuds were forgotten in the moment, their slate clean and empty, and ready to start over again.

A lot of damage had been caused, and scars that would never heal, but here in the unity of family, they were finally ready to try.


	2. Santastiltskin

_(Let's be honest, who doesn't love the idea of Rumple playing Santa, for both the comedy purposes and the adorableness of doing it for Henry. Of course in this case, it's far from voluntary._

_Pairings: Rumbelle, Snowing, Swanthief)_

* * *

Three hundred years ago, the very presence of the Dark One among the common folk sent even the bravest warriors running for the hills, and he'd often hear the desperate click of doors as they locked, sought to keep him as far away from their homes as possible.

But in the present day, his normal leather pants and jacket replaced with a ridiculously large (Belle had made it that way to give him more of the 'Santa appearance') red suit and puffy, red pants, this did not invoke that same reaction.

Rumplestiltskin glared through narrow slits of gold at the winter-dressed commoners trying to hide their quiet laughter into their sleeves and failing miserably. He snorted in annoyance as the white beard tickled his nose, and pondered back the events that brought him into this undignified situation in the first place.

* * *

_"You could help me out here, Rum."_

_"I could, but I won't."_

_His love heaved a sigh as she paused the garland and glared at him, but the man only scowled at his wheel and kept it spinning. He wanted nothing to do with this merriment, and Belle knew it, but it didn't stop her from pushing or promising the Charmings they'd be there for Christmas dinner, even against his wishes._

_"There is an awful lot of decorating and things that need to be done for Christmas."_

_The man scoffed. He hardly saw the point; this insufferable holiday gathering was at the Summer Palace, not his castle. The only ones brave enough to ever approach the foreboding walls of his home was Henry, and often his Bae. _

_"If there's too much to be done, then why bother doing it?"_

_"Because it's Christmas. Like I said, I could use your help."_

_"Sorry dearie, I have more important matters to attend to, like my spinning."_

_The brunette sighed doubtfully, and Rumplestiltskin knew he'd never be able to pull the wool over her eyes; she was much too perceptive. "Rumple, you have enough gold to appeal to the poorest kingdom in the land."_

_"Well this is for an old widower who recently lost his wife and is trying to support his children. He made a deal with me."_

_She glared, and he knew she wasn't buying it. "And what stopped you from simply magicing up a load for him like you always do?"_

_"...I ran out?"_

_Belle rolled her eyes and contemplated throwing the handful of garland at him._

_"Besides, Belle, it's not my fault you move at such a catastrophically slow pace. I'd have _baskets_ of gold spun in the half hour you've taken to do this."_

_She should have hurled the entire basket of garland and nails by that point, but instead, the woman merely smirked, an eyebrow raising inquisitively. "I see. Care to make a wager on that?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"I have another basket left to hang up, and that should take me another hour to do. If, in that time, you manage to spin four baskets of gold, then I'll never ask you to help me with anything pertaining to Christmas ever again. If you want, I'll also take down all the decorations." _

_A cheeky, maniacal glint came to her eyes. "However, if you lose, you'll have to dress up as Santa, buy presents for everyone, and arrive for Christmas Dinner in costume."_

_The Dark One shuddered, recalling the conversation he had with Belle at Thanksgiving, when the dreaded Santa suit was mentioned. "I can't just conjure the presents?"_

_"Nope, you have to buy them at the market in the suit."_

_He shouldn't agree to it, knew better then to agree to it...but he still did. "Deal."_

_The competitors worked feverishly at their tasks, but Rumplestiltskin, the expert spinner, was having trouble. As he told Emma once, magic was not about concentration, it took emotion, and a steady head. In a race with his wife, he didn't have time for either._

_Sure enough, an hour later, Belle was standing tall and victorious behind him as he whimpered and snipped off the golden string, watching it fall down into only the third basket._

_Purple smoke enveloped him, and he stared down to find himself in a hideous red suit and Belle there holding an old, dusty wand._

_"Better get moving, Rumple. The market will close soon."_

* * *

Shaking off the unpleasant memories that led to this horridly undignified situation, Rumplestiltskin limped his way over to a vendor to get the last gift he needed, and simply stood there in front of him for a moment.

He could tell the vendor was torn between cowering like everyone was apt to do, or laughing at the ridiculous wear. Tubby and in what looked like pajamas with a stupid hat, and a fluffy pom-pom, he looked all but menacing.

"Ho-ho," the vendor finally snickered.

"I may look like that old jolly tub of lard, but I will still gouge out your eyeballs with my cane, and stuff them down your throat."

The vendor clamped his mouth shut.

"I'm looking for a present for my grandson." He hated how muffled his voice sounded with this beard, and it didn't help that he nearly inhaled the damn thing whenever he spoke.

"Oh yes, the little prince. I have just the thing for a boy like him!" Rummaging through the compartments in his cart, the man pulled out a large, leather bag. It was brimming with small, crafted weapons, perfect size for the Charmings' little knight.

The Santa-clad man muttered out a thank you he was sure was smothered to the point of inaudible from the beard, and moved on to a liquor's cart.

_Maybe if I get the family intoxicated enough they won't notice the suit._ It could happen. Unlikely, but it could still happen.

"A quart please of your white wine. I still have a dinner to get to."

The vendor knew better than to ask questions or jibe at the Dark One for his outfit, so he bagged the alcohol without further question, and Rumplestiltskin went on his way.

The man trudged through the powder-like snow, keeping his head low, both to muffle the sounds of snorts and whispering, and to keep his face out of view from prying and mocking eyes. One would think those idiotic commoners would know better than to laugh at the Dark One, but they knew the man was far more mellow than he ever was—mostly for the sake of his family. He threatened someone if they so much as glanced at him the wrong way, but excluding a foolish man that had attempted to kidnap Henry, he never acted on those threats.

Finally, Rumplestiltskin managed to escape the village, but a larger round of humiliation awaited at the Christmas Dinner the man now dreaded even more than he did before. He wanted to just head for the hills and wished he could, but a bet was a bet; it was a deal, and he had sworn to himself he'd never break a deal again.

_Maybe they'll all be having too much fun to notice the suit. _Fat chance.

Biting back a last whimper, he made his way down the hall and toward the dining area. The door was closed, and it was obvious Belle had instructed the guards not to open the doors. He was supposed to knock.

Begrudgingly, he tapped on the door with his eyes shut, and kept them shut as he heard the door open, and then heard his _beloved_ daughter-in-law howl in laughter.

"I'm sorry Santa, we don't have your elves."

The man stood there in the open doorway, humiliation drenching him in waves as he clutched the large sack of presents, little bells ringing with the merriment he did not feel. "Ho...ho...ho..."

"Wow, so I guess this is the surprise Belle told us about," the blonde snorted, moving aside so her father-in-law could step in the door.

The entire family, his precious Belle especially, lost it at the sight of him, and the former imp pulled his head into his large, red coat the best he could, trying to hide in his beard. "Is Regina here?" he whispered fearfully to Emma.

"Yeah, she came over to drop off presents." That sly look he hated came to the blonde's eyes. "Oh, 'Giiiina!"

"I will slit your throat in your _sleep_," Rumplestiltskin snarled warningly, even as his eyes stayed ludicrously wide with horror at the prospect of his old nemesis seeing him in such a state.

"What is it, Ms. Swan? I'm busy ma..." The brunette trailed off, a thankfully empty tray in her hands clattering to the floor as she took in the sight of her old enemy standing there before her in a Santa suit, with a beard, and a sack of presents.

Everyone was silent at first, anticipating the woman's reaction. Just when Rumplestiltskin was about to snap something, Regina fell back against the counter, howling with raucous laughter, louder than the group had ever heard from her.

Rumplestiltskin's eyes slid shut as he wished for death. It was official. He was _humiliated._

Each time Regina managed to regain her composure, she glanced at Rumplestiltskin and burst into louder peels, holding her stomach as tears came to her eyes.

Ignoring Regina and wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, Rumplestiltskin trudged over to Henry, who had been oblivious with everything, too engrossed with his presents. Henry only stared at him for the first few moments.

"Wow, what happened?"

The grandfather cleared his throat. "I lost a bet. Want some presents?"

"Yeah!"

He unfastened the tassels on the bag and started handing around wrapped packages as rustling paper was soon heard.

"Wowww, a weapons kit!" Henry practically squealed, hugging the wooden chest to himself, before doing the same thing to his grandfather. "Thanks!"

"You're welcome, my boy. Merry Christmas."

"A quart of liquor?" Emma smirked. "You know me well, _Pops._"

Regina unwrapped a large, leather cook book. She raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I was half expecting something with poison in it."

"I won't lie, I thought about it."

Everyone finished unwrapping their presents, fawning and thanking the man, as gifts continued to be passed around. For a moment, wrapped up in the festiveness, Rumplestiltskin almost forgot what he was wearing.

"Ou, a bracelet!"

"Hey, a sword sharpener!"

"Aw sweet, new boots!"

"Well, I think I've suffered enough humiliation for one day," the man muttered, prepared to magic away the costume. Charming slapped a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"I don't think so, _Santa," _the man snickered playfully. "The Santa experience isn't truly over until Henry sits in your lap."

"What? It's already Christmas! Children do that when they're asking for presents!"

His infuriating Belle that he so wished he could just banish to the couch (but men didn't have the liberty to do that; only the women did) only grinned at him. "No taking off that costume until Henry sits in your lap."

Rumplestiltskin growled quietly, but obediently pulled up his grandson into his lap, and wrapped his arms around him with a deadpan glare.

"Look at that, he's a perfect Santa!" Charming grinned.

"I think with that getup on he should be called something else," Neal snickered.

"_Santa_stiltskin?" Everyone started laughing.

Suddenly, Emma was somehow there with a disposable camera, shoving it into his face. "Say cheese, Santa!"

"And where by the gods did you get that blasted thing?!"

"Come on, I'm from the modern world. Did you really think I could survive here without an emergency supply stash?"

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes as the flash went off and everyone started laughing again. Still holding Henry in one arm, he ripped off the beard and hat and gestured wildly for Emma's bottle. "Just hand me the damned liquor."


	3. A Horse Named Steve

_(Snow White and Regina attempt to teach Emma how to horseback ride._

_No pairings, just rival/step grandmother/step granddaughter and awkward mentor fluff.)_

* * *

"Do we really have to do this?"

Snow White was both endeared and annoyed at the childish 'I don't wanna' tone to her daughter's voice, and she and Regina glanced back to see the blonde princess scowling like a four year old as she begrudgingly dragged her feet in the dirt.

"I'm afraid we do, Emma," her mother sighed. "You're a princess—"

"Don't call me that damned 'p' word!" At that, Snow stopped and spun around. The expression on her face was stern, the 'mom' glare, and Emma quieted.

"Emma, it's not an insult. I know you don't really like the idea, but your status is something you should be proud of."

Emma griped and made a few noises in annoyance, shuffling her feet. "I know, but-"

"Regardless of how much you loathe it, Ms. Swan, it isn't going to change anything. Your mother and father are King and Queen, and you are a princess, and your fiance is a prince. You're part of a royal bloodline, and the sooner you can 'suck it up' as they say, and deal with it, the happier we all will be."

Turquoise eyes glared at the back of Regina's old riding suit as she pulled the reins of her horse and trotted ahead of them on the path, hoping not to deal with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumb anymore than she needed to.

"Oh shut up, Regina. No one asked you…" Emma subtly leaned over to the side, toward her mother. "Why did we have to bring her of all people?"

"Because dealing with you is a two-person job," Snow teased gently, glad she was up on her horse and her daughter couldn't playfully swat at her. "Besides, Regina knows a lot about horses, and with the two of us combined, I think you'll catch on fast."

Emma followed the two horseback riders as they moved at a leisurely pace her legs were able to keep up with. She still scowled, feeling ridiculous and tiny walking next to these giant steeds. "So why couldn't I get on a horse with you guys rather than just walk like a ninny?"

"Because you've never been on a horse before, and we weren't just going to have you ride over a _bridge_ with _water_ your first time riding," Regina shot back, sparing a hand to gesture to the wooden bridge thirty feet above a large, sun-shimmering lake.

Emma resumed her frivolous pouting as she followed her mother and step-grandmother over the bridge, mimicking Regina's snooty tone under her breath. It was clear that didn't go unnoticed since a small root sprouted up from the last plank and tripped the blonde, making her sprawl onto her face into the grass.

Emma spat out a mouthful of dirt, and was about to give Storybrooke's mayor the darkest glare she ever had, when a subtle snort straight ahead stopped her. The blonde rose and brushed off her jeans (she refused to wear any 'princess dresses'), staring straight ahead at her new, grazing animal.

It was a beautiful creature, the kind every little girl dreamed of in their childhood. The steed's mane was a luminous silver, and its coat as white as snow. It had piercing black eyes, that upon she looked at them, Emma felt as if she was gazing right into the beast's soul.

"Wow…"

"He's a gorgeous thing, isn't he?" Snow asked, as she and Regina hopped off their horses and made their way over to the mesmerized blonde. "And he's yours, Emma. He's all yours."

Amidst the amazement of having her own horse, Emma felt a twinge of guilt. Sure it was awesome she had a horse and all, but she didn't feel the glee she thought she'd feel. She was never one of those children that dreamed of the normal things little girls dreamed of. While every other child her age fantasized about having a horse and being a princess, she fantasized over finally finding a family.

"He is….hey boy." The blonde's voice dipped to a soft, almost crooning tone that made even Regina raise an eyebrow. "What's his name?"

"He's your horse, Emma. You can name him anything you'd like."

"Wow…" A moment passed with the blonde just staring as her horse munched on some grass. "….So now what?"

Her mother laughed, rubbing a gentle hand over the horse's large muzzle. As all creatures were prone to do with her, he rubbed his snout gently into the heel of the woman's palm. "Now you give your horse a chance to get to know you. He's more likely to be obedient if you bond with him before you ride him."

"So if I don't would he, just like fling me into a tree the moment I jump on him?"

"Well no, probably not that harsh, but he might not obey any of your commands if he doesn't like you."

"Although it would be a sight to see the forest's newest little princess flung into a tree," Regina couldn't resist muttering in a teasing, mocking tone. The sneer on her face only widened as Emma gave her that livid look that suggested she had pushed her buttons.

"Don't call me the 'p' word!"

Snow White was desperate to stop the rising banter before it reached the pinnacle of eye gauging and hair pulling, and with these two, she knew it happened easily. For the sake of Henry and perhaps maybe even accepting they were both part of the same twisted family, things had mellowed out, but nothing would ever be truly peaceful.

The stomachs of the two women subtly growled, and they lost interest in most likely pondering how to kill one another, finding lunch sounded more appealing as they all plopped down under the tree and let their horses graze at the side.

"What did you bring, Mare?" Emma asked her mother, eager to chow down on left over chicken, or even the cook's mixed salad from the other night. To her chagrin, her mother handed her an orange. "What, are you serious? I'm starving here!"

"Of course, you're never full."

The blonde held back on the smack she wanted to give Regina and chose instead to keep badgering her mother. "Maaare, I want something else to eat! Seriously, how do you expect me to ride a horse with a nearly empty stomach?"

"Emma, the cooks will have dinner prepared in only a couple of hours. I don't want you spoiling your meal." The sheriff's cheeks flushed a bright pink at the indignation of being treated like a child, and she was seconds away from punching Regina when she heard her muffle a laugh behind her water canister.

"So what are the carrots for then?"

"The horse," Snow responded, as if it was obvious. She took a few sticks into her palm and held it out flat, watching as her mare eagerly lapped up the carrots. "Try giving some to your steed, Emma."

Shrugging, Emma reached over to the large muzzle of her steed and offered the tidbits. The beast barely raised his head at them, before snorting several large boogers into the blonde's hand—much to her disgust.

"Aw, gross! I thought horses were supposed to like carrots." She balked as her inconsiderate steed snatched her orange straight from her hand. "What the hell!" At that, Snow laughed.

"I guess he has an _acquired_ taste," Snow teased affectionately, giving the beast a loving pat on the side while Emma just glared.

"I want a new horse. This one is defective and mean." Her steed snorted right into her face.

"Trust takes a bit to build up, Ms. Swan," Regina advised, "And insulting it is probably not the way to go. Why don't you try grooming it?"

Emma's blue-green eyes glared skeptically at the unruly horse, but she pulled a rough, bristled brush out of her pocket regardless, and hesitantly ran the bristles through her creature's mane. A few soft strokes later, and the steed was an entirely different creature. Emma felt the horse's muscles relax, and with it, her own.

The steed gazed soulfully into its new owner's eyes, and Emma felt her previous disdain and annoyance for the orange snatcher melt away. "I think it's starting to like me." She timidly held out her palm and grinned when the steed nuzzled it.

"What are you going to name him?"

Her hand resting against the horse's broad back, Emma crossed her ankles thoughtfully. She looked at her steed, and then back at her mother and step-grandmother. Then her horse, and then her companions. Horse. Companions.

_Orange?_

_Orange Thief?_

_Mr. Attitude?_

_Steed…steed…_

"….Steve?"

Snow White's stared at her daughter as if she had grown three heads while Regina spat out her drink.

"Tell me you miss pronounced 'steed', and that you aren't actually going to _name _your _horse_ something so ridiculous," the former queen deadpanned. She thought Snow White was going to burst a lung laughing.

"What? I think it's a nice name."

"For a horse?!" Snow White managed to sputter out between fits of laughter.

"Fine then. Ms. Swan, let me teach you how to mount your…Steve."

Emma stood by her new horse with excitement and anticipation, obviously trying to process how to get all her limbs up on the horse's large back without breaking them. "This is complicated—much more than saddles you'd see now-a-day."

"Yes, well, we're in the stone ages, dear. Everything is a little different." Regina gently took a hold of the steed's head and glanced over at the confused Emma. "It's best to have somebody to hold the horse steady the first few times. It'll help keep it calm." She tugged down the stirrups. "Hop on and take the reins. But don't you dare flick them."

The blonde felt that special spark of excitement any little girl at a fair would. Her grip tightened on the reins in adrenaline as she felt the horse take a step forward, and Regina guided her horse along.

"Gotta say, _Madame Mayor_, you're not too bad of a teacher."

"And you expected me to be inadequate?" the woman responded icily, highly affronted.

"Well no, I just thought you might take the opportunity to run me off a cliff or something."

"Tempting, I must admit, but I have a feeling Henry might frown upon that."

Steve trotted leisurely in a slow circle, and Emma's reluctance turned into a slight overdose of over confidence as her steed went faster amidst Regina's advising to keep it slow. Her elbow slipped at a point—and rammed harshly into the side of the beast's head.

It was literal dejavu as both step mother and step daughter watched as the steed gave a loud whiny of distress and reared back on its hind legs. Emma cried out in surprise, but instinctively tightened her grip on the reins other than release them, and before anyone could react, the frenzied horse bolted down the hill.

"EMMA!" Snow screamed, eyes frozen wide in panic as her daughter disappeared from view, in a situation all too familiar. Both women could only stand there as everything registered. The moment it did, Regina's body jumped to action before her mind even had a chance to process what it was doing.

"Rocinante!" Regina leaped nearly belly down onto her steed, but the beast knew well enough to start galloping before the reins were even tugged, and the two quickly disappeared down the path as Snow White – who was in the midst of mounting her own mare – quickly disappeared from view.

"Ms. Swan!" Regina shouted out, but then dropped the formal title, "Emma! Emma, can you hear me?!"

She sped down the forest path, cursing in amazement when she couldn't even see the distant shape of the horse's rear. Damned Steve ran fast. (gods, she still couldn't believe the name).

Emma, meanwhile, was being tossed around violently like a horrific, nightmarish carnival ride. One of her nicer foster families had taken her to a carnival once, but it was her only experience with a horse. Even then, there were trained professionals there guiding the horse; she wasn't just completely on her own on one that had gone senile.

The blonde cried out as she was violently tossed, and somehow, digging her nails into the steed's neck, managed to barely cling on. The horse was whipping down the trail, and creating a force of wind that was threatening to suck her backwards and send her flying.

"Slow down, holy crap! Is this because I called you Steve? It was all I could think of! I can change the name, it's not like it was laminated!"

The horse didn't even seem to hear her as it continued to speed down the forest path like a whirlwind, and the scenery grew darker as they got deeper into the woods.

Emma managed to scale her body up so she could tightly wrap her arms around the wild steed's neck. She tried summoning up quick ideas to catch the horse's attention, but none of them worked.

_Damn, whenever Henry gets really rowdy I manage to calm him down._ Then again, a hyped up eleven year old boy and a wild won't-listen-to-reason racing machine were two entirely different things.

"Emma!"

The blonde whipped her head to the side, and had never felt more relieved in her life as she watched Regina gallop up next to her. "Regina, stop this thing!" The brunette's response made a Emma's stomach freeze into a pit of ice.

"No," the woman responded coolly, "I'm not going to do that." Wide, terrified eyes gazed back at her in shock and disbelief, until the woman finished her sentence. "You will."

"I don't know how to stop a runaway horse, are you crazy?!"

Even as Emma grew more frantic as her grip began to slip, the other woman stayed collected and calm. "Inch yourself up on the horse, and try to press your knees against its shoulder blades. Restrict its movement."

"I-I can't." A particular hard leap the horse made caused the blonde's fingers to slip from around it's neck, and she quickly clambered on in a panic to remain on the beast. Seeing Emma in such a stressed frenzy was something Regina would have paid to see, but not under this sort of circumstance.

"Yes you can," she told her sternly. "Wrap your hands around the reins, double them, and _yank._"

Finger shaking and hands sweaty, they fumbled to hold onto the leather, but finally Emma got a good hold of the reins and gave one fierce, rapid _yank._ The effect was electric on the horse. It reared up on its hind legs, and Emma went flying over the horse, landing hard on her back a few feet in front of it.

The former queen climbed down from her steed and hurried over to the blonde. She was winded, but otherwise fine. "Are you okay?"

_"Are you alright?"_

Groaning, the blonde exhaled a few shaky coughs before managing to slide up into a sit. "Yeah, I'm fine, but there's no way in hell I'm ever getting on that thing again!"

_"Yes….but I'll never ride again."_

_"Nonsense…the only way to overcome fear is to face it!"_

And Regina was silent for what felt like hours, and it must have been long enough to concern Emma since the woman was awkwardly waving a hand in front of her face.

"Uh, hello?"

The spaced out, other-world look in Regina's eyes snapped back to normal, and she hesitated, before speaking. "It…it was your first time on a horse, and you managed to stop it. A _run away_ horse. I don't think that's anything to sneeze at, Ms. Swan."

"Emma!"

The distant, frantic gallop of hooves grew louder until Snow came barreling down the path. She hardly bothered to let the horse halt before practically leaping off it and bolting to her daughter. "Emma, hunny, are you alright?"

The blonde flushed in embarrassment as her mother's soft hands gently held her cheeks, and she fought the urge to squirm away from them. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, Mom…"

Snow's mouth creased and her eyes misted over. Regina instantly recognized the annoying expression as the type she always gave when she was fighting back a monsoon of tears. "I guess that was his way of saying he didn't like the name Steve." The two laughed, and Snow tenderly kissed her daughter's forehead.

"Yeah, I thought of a better name while he was trying to kill me. _Sprint._"

"Did you get hurt?" Emma grunted and Regina gave a subtle snort as Snow closely examined her daughter like a neurotic mother, and Emma let it go until finally pushing her hands away in annoyance.

"No, Regina managed to calm the horse down."

Instantly, Snow White's eyes were on her step mother, just staring at her. There was no emotion in her face, she was simply looking at her. The woman stared back, wondering if in her step daughter's head, she was pondering if she had been the cause for Sprint to spook in the first place.

And then, Snow wrapped her arms tightly around Regina's neck. It was a fleeting gesture, and before the former queen had a chance to violently pull back, the younger woman had released her.

Snow then turned her attention to Emma, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and escorting her and the horses out, the two engaging in conversation as Regina stood back by Sprint, just staring as they started to walk away.

"We better get back to the castle. The cooks will have dinner prepared soon."

"But I'm hungry now and the way back is an hour walk at least!"

"Not if we ride!"

"Oh HELL no!" Mother and daughter erupted into laughter, as Regina, who had been hanging behind eventually fell into step with the family. The look on her face was akin to a nervous child at a playground that was unsure how to approach a group and be accepted.

"You can't just give me something more to eat now? Come on, I was just on a rowdy horse!"

"You think you get a free pass just because you were nearly thrown from the back of a horse? Keep dreaming, my daughter…"

The light hearted laughter started up again, and Regina remained quiet as she stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket, watching the two younger women as they blissfully chatted, without a care in the world.

Henry's mother. Henry's grandmother. Step daughter and granddaughter. Family.

_Family._

It was a term the former queen never thought she'd concern herself with, unless that family was simply a fuzzy-headed little boy. Yet, here in the middle of a peaceful forest, with the two women, it didn't feel like a bad option to tuck under her belt.


End file.
